Time Traveling

You know that strange, disoriented feeling you get with Daylight Savings Time?  It doesn’t matter if we are springing forward or falling back, my life goes a bit haywire.  Not only does Bailey beg to be fed an hour too soon, I forget to change the clocks-- seems they are everywhere-- and continue to get tricked.  Most annoying, I either wake up too early or have a terrible time falling asleep.

The off-kilter discombobulation that happens when we play with time can last for a week or even longer before my biorhythm tilts and I get back in synch.  Traveling is like being on Daylight Savings Time, because crossing multiple time zones is a kind of time travel.

When we left Salem to fly to Singapore it was like flying into the future.  Although the actual plane ride took more than sixteen hours, when we landed, we’d jumped ahead to the day after tomorrow.  Somehow, somewhere over the vast Pacific Ocean, a day disappeared and we sprang one day into the future.

And now, as we pack and get ready to fly home, I study the time problem.  We will leave Singapore at 8:15 in the morning and arrive in San Francisco one half hour later.  According to our ticket, the flight takes just 30 minutes.  But in reality, it takes more than fourteen hours.   We will cross time zones and fly back in time.

How does this happen?  It’s all about the International Date Line.

How the IDL works

         In the end, we started this trip on the last day of June and we will get home on the first day of August.  July in Salem just disappeared.  It's as if we have lost a month.
         Will life in Salem be the same?  Bailey's fur will be longer and he will probably need a summer haircut.
         Mostly, I am imagining that it won't seem very different there, but one thing will have changed dramatically.
        Me.
        As a time traveller, I've had the amazing experience of visiting three very different worlds: Singapore, a city/state of the future; Bali, an island that lives fifty years in the past; and the Northern Territory of the continent of Australia.
         I've had the great good fortune to meet all kinds of gentle, sophisticated, primitive, and wonderful people, all vastly different and unerringly similar too.
        I am forever changed.
        And it's been a great time.

Unsealed road tracks

When driving into the city of Darwin from Michael and Denise’s house in the bush-- which we have been doing all week--  we are on a “sealed” highway.  These kind of roads make driving in the region easy.  However, driving into Kadadu or Arnhem Land-- as we plan to do-- requires a four-wheel drive so we can navigate unsealed road tracks.  

Sidenote: It turns out renting a four-wheel drive means:  1) no roadside service; 2) no insurance coverage if you drive at night since native animals are often on roads at that time; and 3) no coverage anytime for travel on unpaved roads (AKA unsealed)-- the kind of roads and tracks you need the 4WD car for in the first place!

Anyway, much of the Top End is owned by Aboriginal people.  Kakadu National Park, the largest national park in the country, is considered aboriginal land but is jointly managed with the Australian parks.  Kakadu is known for many things including the highest concentrated areas of Aboriginal rock art in the world.  

Neighboring Arnhem Land is solely Aboriginal land, and it is illegal to enter without a permit.  If you want to see Arnhem Land, for example, you usually have to do it as part of an organized tour.  To enter on your own is very difficult.

Denise, however, is an adopted aboriginal woman.  Her “family” lives in Arnhem Land and is always glad when she can make it out for a visit.  Nicole and I applied for a travel permit-- accompanied by Denise-- and were granted it with no problem.

So, here’s what’s happening.  Nicole, Denise, and I have rented the right 4WD vehicle, we have permits for Arnham Land in hand, and we are off on a three-day adventure into the real “outback.”

#honoring the dream time

Michael stayed home to keep the pythons from under the bed, feed the dogs, and such.  We will drive unsealed road tracks as we scout birds, bow down at the rock face, and visit the “rellies.”

I before e, an Australian Quiz

Drinking beer on the pier, and a boat goes by.  I ask, "What's a boat called in Australia?"
       "A tinnie," Nicole answers.  Nicole has a long history with Australia and should know.

Still, her answer doesn't seem right to me.  "I thought a beer was a tinnie. . ."
       "It is.  Too many tinnies gives you a techi-colored yard."

That gives me pause.  I image rainbow-colored labels on tin beer cans smashed John Belushi-like on Australian foreheads then thrown out the door, to rust on trash piles along a dirt driveway.  "You mean too many cans on the lawn?"
      "No, Susan!  You drink too many tinnies and you vomit, a techi-color yawn!"

"Oh.  Yuck."

So "techi-color yawn" is Australian for vomit.  The many colorful expressions are fascinating but I am especially impressed with the countless words Australians use that end in ie.

What else besides "tinnie"?  Today I saw a sign that said the gas station accepted Woolie vochures.  What's a woolie? You might wonder?  I did too.  It's Australian for Woolworths!

So, I've compiled a short list-- a matching quiz-- of i before e words, used often in Australia.  Why don't you try it?

Directions:  Test yourself.  Match the definition with the ie word.

Be careful.
You might use some answers more than once or not at all!
Correct answers are at the end of this blog.


 Word                          Definition
__________________________________
1.  Rellies                   A.  sandwiches
2.  Polies                    B.  doggies
3.  Salties                   C.  crackers
4.  Posties                  D.  crocodiles
5.  Freshies                E.  cheese sandwiches
6.  Sonnies                 F.  politicians
7.  Doggies                G.  relatives
8.  Toasties                H.  mail carriers
9.  Mossie                  I.  mosquitoes


It's good to learn the lingo when you travel.



So, how did you do?

1.  Rellie = relative
2.  Polie = politician
3.  Saltie= salt-water crocodile
4.  Postie=  mail carrier
5.  Freshie= fresh-water crocodile
6.  Sonnie= just a regular sandwich
7.  Doggie=  doggie
8.  Toastie= cheese or other toasted sandwich
9.  Mossie= mosquito

Stuart Highway, Dead Cars, and the Middle of Somewhere

Roads here go on forever.  They are straight, mostly flat, and empty.  In all of the driving we have done so far, we have never passed another car, at least not that I’ve noticed.  I’ve seen at least six dead cars-- cars planted in fields by edge of the road, burned out, stripped down, and rusted. What exactly do they mean?  Western contraptions growing out of this primordial landscape, a reminder maybe of the transient nature of the white man in a land that is timeless.  A warning of the inevitable.

Mercedes in a field.  Notice the tree growing up through its center?

Actually, the eerie skeletons of abandoned cars brings to mind familiar images-- scenes from the movie “Walkabout” have been playing on a constant loop in my brain.  That Australian film was all about the contrast between the natural world, the world of the aboriginal people, and “civilization.”  If you never saw it, you should.  One dramatic moment that replays over and over in that film involves a white Australian driving as far out into the bush as he can go.  He tells his children it is a picnic, but the plan all along is suicide.  He shoots himself after first setting fire to his car while his son and daughter witness the whole thing.

“Walkabout” was probably my first glimpse of Australia, watched in the early 1970’s I think, and it remained on my greatest-movies-of-all-time list for decades.  It had a profound impact on my teenaged self, resident of south Jersey, and citizen of planet earth developing an environmental consciousness.  

This is all tied together:  the burned-out carcasses of cars, the open scrubland, the exotic nature of birds, and a dry, dry season. Now nearly fifty years later, I am identifying myself:  the white girl turned loose, trying to make sense of this land down under.  It’s a lot to take in.

Death in Australia

Death in Australia

It’s true that there are thousands of ways to die in Australia.  I’d like to discuss just a few that we’ve encountered so far and, as a vigilant guest, the precautions I am taking to get back to Oregon in one piece:

1. Snakes.  Some of the world’s most venomous snakes live here.  Tourists are advised to always wear heavy shoes and stay on clearly marked paths.  I am doing just that.

Portia, one of the three dogs that live so happily with Michael and Denise crawled under their bed one night to sleep in her favorite place.  From the cozy haven under their bed, she let out a bloodcurdling scream.  

As Michael turned on the light, and Denise sat up, Portia came running out from under the bed.  A python was attached to her leg.  Not a child’s python, the name of the smallish ones that frequent the area, but a full-sized python, about four meters long.  Let me repeat, it was under the bed.

Portia survived since a python kills not by venomous bites but by strangulation.  But I keep thinking about the event and am studying this danger more fully.

2. Crocodiles.  Don’t stand on the banks of rivers, the tourists are warned. Crocodile danger is real.  Don’t risk your life.  And it’s true, crocs can be found in any Top End waterway, they move around, and they will attack.  They will see us before you see them.  They are the largest member of the food chain and have been unbeatable for millions of years.  Oh, yes, and never clean fish by the water’s edge.
3. Box jellyfish.  Box jellyfish are common in the ocean.  Don’t swim in the ocean from October to May, the guidebooks say.  That’s when the box jellyfish are most frequently found.  And did I mention the sting from a box jellyfish can be especially lethal to older people?
4. So many critters.  The first night in our bush hut, right before going to bed, I saw a very LARGE spider in the kitchen area.  He played dead while I shined the flashlight feature of my iPhone directly in his face, but I could see the large, bug-like eyes watching me.  An extra big gecko, too, was on the wall.

As I climbed into bed that first night, I put the covers over my head-- although given the many ways to die in Australia, I suspected that sheet protection was likely to fail.  That night I dreamed there was a tiger in the room.  He wanted out and I couldn’t think of a way to help him without hurting myself in the process.  Finally, the dream me was able to use the end of a flashlight-- “torch” here in the land of kangaroos-- to smash a window and set him free.  

That’s when I woke up, barely breathing under the covers and decided that if I was going to die, Australia was as good a place as any to do it.  Now I sleep with the sheets lowered, my head bare, willing to take the risk.

Things to love about Australia

Things to love about Australia, a list in progress:

--The sky is an open canvas of blue.  It stretches above the landscape far and wide; over and until.  I’ve never seen sky like this in the Northern Territory.  This may also be due to the fact that there is nothing, I mean nothing, to interfere with the sky here.  

--The air is clean, crisp, and fresh.  When I stand outdoors, brace my back with my hands, and look up, up, up. . .  I can see all the way to Heaven.

--On our first night, the moon rose completely full, a giant orb just above the tree-line, white light washing everything.  As it moved across the sky, settling in the west, it remained bright and clear as a large bulb, uncovered and hanging from an invisible wire overhead.

--And of course, the stars!  Brightest I have ever seen.  Big lights against the night’s canvas.  BIG Big Dipper, the Southern Cross, and the man in the moon looks just like a seated rabbit from this angle.

--The birds are everywhere.  When Michael dives us out in the car, he drives the speed limit. 110 kilometers on the main road.  Suddenly, because there is no traffic, and he can, he will suddenly throw on the brakes and point left through the passenger’s window, maybe right out his drivers window, or sometimes straight ahead through the windshield.  There’s always a bird.

Michael and Denise are both birders, experts.  Denise has written definite books about birds in the Top End.  She and Michael can find them, point to them, identify them, recognize their vocalizations, and tell us anything we might want to know.  Nicole is no slouch either.  She did, afterall, spend many months on assignment from National Geographic driving every inch of Australia and camping out of her Land Rover one year.
So many kinds of birds!  Some I know well:  the osprey or the egret.  Some I’ve heard of but never seen until now:  kookaburra and giant, multi-colored parrots.  Others are brand new and marvelous: the thickknee or jabiru.  I love the birds.

Our Australian Home

As Jetstar was making its approach to the Darwin airport, I watched the sunrise from the plane window.  It was an incredible red line as far as I could see, separating ocean from sky.  And then suddenly I saw trees on the horizon and we were here.

We arrived slightly late and hung over from a night with no sleep, but Denise and Michael were waiting for us once we had cleared customs.  The drive to their house took about an hour, after a stop for gas.  We had no idea what to expect.

Turns out they live in the bush, literally. The people who built the place in the 1980’s tried planting cypress trees, but a bush fire came through and wiped out all but three of them out.  

Michael and Denise have since created a bird sanctuary on the land and are preserving the area as habitat for all wildlife, not just the birds.  They are both up early in the cool morning air, clearing and maintaining the land, preserving this parcel of earth from invasive and foreign grasses and protecting the native growth.

Not sure you can see them, but these trees at Michael and Denise's house are full of rainbow lorikeets.

It is dry season so things probably seem less bushy and more scrub-like than normal.  Trees grow tall here but are mostly leafless.  Native palms remind me that we are in the tropics still, and dry grasses create the underbrush. Most of the trees I’ve never heard of and even the familiar ones-- like eucalyptus--are a different variation than I’m known, for instance, in California.  

Bella, Poppy, and Portia are the resident dogs, and all were delighted to meet us when we first arrived.  They are equally joyous to greet us when we wake in the morning, upon our return each day from outings, and whenever Michael throws palm nuts into the water for them to retrieve.

Nicole and I are staying in the guesthouse.  The guesthouse is made from a cement pad, metal struts, particleboard, and corrugated iron walls and roof. The windows were probably state-of-art in the outback in the fifties.  They are multi-levered glass that crank open. Friends from Florida will be able to picture them.

The appliances are all strangely simple, mostly rusted, but usable.  The toilet is outside, in a storage area and one must fill a bucket to pour into the bowl for flushing.  It’s like camping but far more comfortable.

The first morning we were here, Nicole looked out the window and said, “Look Susan, there’s a wallabee,” but he had hopped away before I could see him.

It’s beautiful here.  We hear all kinds of birds, day and night.  We are in one of the last real wildernesses on the planet.  

What do the men do?

      As we travel around Bali, we've been photographing women at work.  The men are often missing from the photos.  But they are there.  They are often in the background.  We've wondered what they are doing.  Mostly, I am aware that they are managing.  They are also almost always racing around on their motorbikes, managing the affairs of the village and state, no doubt.
      One night I walked up our hill to discover a large group of motorbikes parked together.  A few roosters wandered around between the wheels.  As I got closer, I heard shouting, cheers.
     Men in Bali love volleyball!

Group of men playing volleyball one evening in Penestanan Village.

     But the women?  These women of Bali do everything!  They plant the rice, they harvest the rice, they cook the rice, and they wash the rice dishes.  
     It's incredible seeing them at every work site doing heavy manual labor in their flip flops.  They walk everywhere usually carrying something on their heads:  heavy bags of cement, groceries, bricks.
     As in most cultures, the women also take care of house and home, caring for elderly relatives.  Here in Bali, they make the offerings to the gods but are not allowed in certain temples if they are menstruating or pregnant since that is not "clean."  The men are always clean, I guess.  They are always allowed in the temples.
     One more thing about the women-- the really astonishing part--  is that women also run the market place, work in tourism, and end up managing and running their own shops and cafes.  They are actually very powerful in business-- at least a select few.
      Which brings me back to the men, and the nagging question, "What do the men do?"
      The men help with tourism, they drive cars, they work in the rice fields, and they build.  Most often, when we are out and I have my camera, I see them.
     They are sitting.  They are watching.  They attend the ritual cock fighting ceremonies at the temple.  Early morning, late at night, from our bed in Ubud we could hear the cheering from the fights.

     Today as we drove across Bali, I saw the men in a new light.  Groups of men were gathering in every town and village.  They were dressed in white and carrying banners.
     Women were not visible.  Instead thousands of Balinese men were staging a protest against proposed land reclamation.
     This resistance movement is about the destruction of native land to further the tourism business.  For example, there are plans to build a Disney like "all-inclusive" tourist island.  You can imagine.  The Bali men are imagining.



     The future is at stake, and the men of Bali are rallying together to fight mega moves that would devastate further the environment as well as the culture of this precious island.
      Perhaps it is already too late. As it is, we arrived in Kuta today and I'm heartbroken to see the mess in this part of Bali.  As one travel writer said so well, "Kuta may well be the most vile place on Earth."
     Think of the worst fraternity party gone bad.  Drunk Australians.  No temples.  T-shirts for sale that say disgusting things.
     Kuta isn't the Bali I've come to know, but it is a big fat warning.  I suspect these resistance men have seen the damage in Kuta, and they are inspired to do something to protect what they hold sacred.
     I am on their side.  I hope they succeed.


So what else do the men do?

     They are artists, musicians, dancers, wood carvers, jewelry makers, painters, and so on.
Everywhere we traveled, the men were creators of beauty.



      Here is a silversmith working in the village of Celuk.




       Oh, and yes.
     The men of Bali do a great job helping to care for children, especially while women work.  I took the picture to the right from the car window.  A father and his son.

      Finally, I offer my apologies to all people for any stereotypes I've portrayed here.  This note is one tourist's view given after a very short visit to a complicated and beautiful place.


      During my stay, I have never felt safer around men.  Balinese men are kind, very kind.  They are funny.

      I've so fallen in love with Nyoman, our driver, and Adi, who has managed our stay in this fabulous Ubud house.  Nyoman told me today that I was "a souvenir memory" he would keep.
      I say the same back to you, my soul brother.  The same to you.

The Rule of Three: A Baker's Dozen

Yesterday, we traveled to the village of Batubulan to see the Barong dance.  It turned out to be less of a dance, and more of a play, a reenactment of a Hindu myth.  
     In music, dance, and drama  the story addresses the fight between good and evil.

     Afterward, I asked Nyoman, our driver, what the colors red, white, and black symbolized. This led to an interesting discussion about the balance of three.  
     According to Nyoman, Bali is all about three. With apologies to my wise teacher, borrowed and adapted from him with a few of my own sprinkled in, I have drafted a list.

 Bali Threesomes

1.  Three kinds of temples:  small in homes, medium in village, and large in region.  Fact:  Bali has over six thousand temples.

2.  Three times of day:  Morning, noon, night.

3.  Three volcano peaks:  Agung, Batur, and Batukaru.

4.  Three kinds of people:  girl, gay, and man (This from Ngyman).  I did not discuss it with him and so cannot explain it.

5. Influences on Bali culture:  Hindu, Indian, and Chinese.

6.  Three important spirits: good, evil, and balance.

7.  Three important ceremonies in Bali life:  puberty, marriage, and death.

8.  Three main gods:  Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva.

9.  Three kinds of rice:  red, white, and black.


10.  Three regions of the country:  North, East, and West.  This from him with some concerns on my part for the South, so I'll revise it to say: mountains, ocean, and inland.

11.  Three kinds of performances:  In the inner courtyard of the temple, in the outer courtyard of the temple, and outside of the temple.  The play we saw was performed outside the temple.

12.  Correspondingly, three kinds of audiences:  performances just for the gods, for gods and people, and just for people.  The play we saw was just for people.

13.  Three ways to lead a spiritual life:  karma, raja, and jnana (works, meditation, and knowledge).  Nyoman is the epitome of all three.

One Hundred and Five Dollars

Initial Question:

What can you buy with a hundred and five dollars?  Dinner with a friend?  A new pair of shoes?  A mountain of unnecessary plastic items from Dollar Tree?
     No doubt, a hundred and five dollars seems a paltry amount if applied to rent or an electric bill.  A hundred and five dollars is not enough to buy an iPhone.  Certainly, a hundred and five dollars won't buy much of anything in the city of Singapore.
     But Bali, as it turns out, is no Singapore.

Background:

    Everything in Bali is bought and sold in the Indonesian Rupiah.  This is a monetary unit that takes getting used to.  On my first day exploring Bali, I was momentarily panicked when the young woman at the Butterfly Garden asked for two hundred thousand rupiah-- for two tickets.
    Flustered, I opened my wallet and began to sort through the multi-colored bills inside.  Two hundred thousand just to see butterflies?  I was astounded.
    As I drew out two pinkish red bills, I did the math.  I remembered that a hundred thousand Indonesian was  less then ten dollars in American  (100,000 IDR = $7.66).
     I haven't shopped or spent many rupiah (yet).  This week, we are staying in Ubud, a town in the mountains known for rain forests and rice fields, temples and shrines,  traditional arts and dance.  Yoga, meditation, smoothies, and health spas are all big business here.  So, I decided to make a spa appointment.
    Bali is delightfully inexpensive.  Turns out, for instance, you can buy quite a bit for $105.00, as I discovered yesterday.

Day Spa Ah Ha

     My appointment at Sang Spa 2-- they have four different spas in town-- was for 9:00 AM.  I was asked to arrive 15 minutes early.  A bit nervously, I walked up the path wondering what to expect.  You see, I'm not a typical spa-kind of girl, and this would be my first "day spa" experience.

     In typical Balinese style, the lobby was open to the outdoors on one side and had a giant picture of Buddha on one of the three walls.  A young man took my shoes and gave me a pair of slippers to wear for the day.  He put my belongings in a locker and gave me the key.  No cell phone.  No book.  I held the key and looked down at my otherwise empty hands.  Then he handed me some kind of green drink for cleansing.
     We discussed some items on the questionnaire, but mostly he wanted to know my preferences.  He displayed trays containing various jars and I was asked to select:  Which mask?  Which scrub?  Which cream?  Randomly, I pointed to jars-- something herbal, something with Bali in the name, and something with aloe vera. After each choice, he made notes on a small clipboard.  He handed me an extensive menu.  Something for lunch?

     Erini was introduced.  She was dressed in a white v-necked t-shirt and a long golden sarong.  She had large brown eyes and lips painted red.  Her smile was genuine.  I smiled back.
     I followed her down a long hallway, past fountains and statues, with doors on each side of the hall.  She stopped in front of door number seven and asked me to sit in a nearby chair.  Knelling down and removing my slippers, she explained she would first bathe my feet.  She reached for a large bowl made from black stone.  Yellow flowers floated in the water.  She carefully lifted my feet into the water and cupped water in her hands, pouring it slowly over my feet.  Her hair, I noticed, was extraordinarily shiny.  The ceremony was like a blessing.  I may have relaxed just a little.

My Own Room

     As she opened door number seven, she said quietly, "This is your room."
     A massage table was laid out in the center of the room and a large tub was behind it.  I also noticed a shower.  Music played softly and the room smelled fresh.  Erini asked me to remove all clothing and to wear a pair of disposable panties.  I trusted her.
     The moment I lay face down on the table I understood that a Balinese massage was not like the massages I was used to.  Instead of putting my face in a doughnut and then gazing down at the floor,  I found myself looking into a round stone bowl.  It was strategically placed on the floor precisely below my face.  Filled with water, it contained three white rocks.  A yellow blossom floated on the top.  I began to float as well.
    Erini placed both hands on my body and pressed down.  I relaxed a lot.  I left my body and floated into the Bali morning.

FourTreatments for the Body

   During the hour-long massage, Erini used a lot of pressure, soft rubbing of essential oils, and direct pressing on pressure points.  It was an incredibly thorough massage and I felt like a famous movie star.  When finished, while I rested, she brought me a glass of water and then applied an herbal scrub all over my body.
    The scrub was gritty, but did not feel like it contained the microbeads that are so toxic to aquatic life.  This scrub seemed to have sand in it for the grit.  The smell made me sneeze.  Erini and I agreed that next time I would choose the Green Tea Scrub.
     I rested while the scrub dried and then she rubbed it all off with her hands and applied a full body mask.  While the mask was still wet, Erini wrapped me in blankets and left me to dry in my cocoon.
     Before showering off the body mask, Erini rubbed yogurt all over my body.  The hot shower felt wonderful and the disposable panties were disposed.  While I showered and Erini cleaned the room we talked.
     She told me she was from a small village in the north of Bali and that her father had died in his early 30's. The owner of the Sang Spas, her father's friend, had paid for her to move to Ubud at 17 and finish school here.  She worked in the spa while going to school.  She was now 19 and planned to work until 25, continuing to send money home to her family.  Then, after they were taken care of, she might get married.
     She smiled as she assisted me into the deep bathtub.  The tub was made of granite and long enough for my legs.  In addition to a soft scent, hundreds of pink and red flower petals floated on the surface, one yellow frangipangi blossom in their midst.  Erini brought me lemon ginger tea and a basket of fresh watermelon and orange slices.  She quietly closed the door and left me to float blissfully for about twenty minutes.

Face, Lunch, Hands, Feet, and Hair

     When she returned, I had dried and put on a sarong.  I lay face up on the table while she gave me a long facial that included many treatments, including a mask and steam.
     "Time for lunch," she said.  I looked at the clock.  Already, I'd been there for almost four hours!  I dressed and said goodbye to my room.
     Erini led me outdoors to the garden.  The lunch I had ordered from the extensive menu during the intake session waited for me at a quiet table by a fountain.

My salad and cucumber/lime smoothie tasted divine.  I admit I sneaked away to my locker to call Nicole and check Facebook.
     After lunch, Erini escorted me to the nail area of the salon.  While she gave me a pedicure and a manicure I sat like the Queen of Sheba and watched a giant goddess statue and fountain in the courtyard.  I won't describe her methods with the nail procedures other than to say it was all done--like the first foot bath-- with her knelling before me on the floor.
     The final treatment was a hair cream bath.  Oh my goodness!  Without doubt, this was the highlight of the day.  This part of the salon looked just like a beauty parlor at home.  First I lay back in a chair at a sink and Erini washed my hair, slowly.  She used those strong, very strong hands to massage the pressure points in my scalp.
     Then she led me to chair and applied an aloe vera creme to my hair.  It was thicker than an ordinary conditioner and she administered it deliberately, section by section, from scalp to ends, almost like hair dye.  They she massaged that even more deeply into my head.
     By now, I'd stopped thinking of myself as the Queen of Sheba or a Hollywood starlet.  I was more like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz when she gets the make over. . .  "brush, brush here; scrub, scrub there. . . it's how we spend the day away in the merry old land of Oz" (remembered with liberties).
     The wizard Erini wrapped my head in a towel and placed me under a steam helmet for about twenty minutes.  During that time I sipped another drink and enjoyed another basket of fruit.
      After one final trip to the sink for a rise, Erini the miracle worker, took care to blow dry my hair. Amazing results! My hair was wonderfully soft, light and smooth.  Delicious and lovely!

The Sum

     Six hours after my first nervous entrance, and I was in the exit interview.  The young man presented my bill.  One million, fifty thousand rupiah.  I just smiled and gave him one hundred and five dollars.
     Then I walked back down the hallway and found Erini.  I gave her a large tip.  "Open your own spa one day," I told her.

Pros and Cons of Singapore

Every day in Singapore proves definitively that this is an ideal place.  A perfect city of the future.

Every day I weigh the pros and cons.  With difficulty.

After a week of intense scrutiny, I can report my findings two ways:  1) In a T-chart that shows the balance, and 2) with a few choice vignettes.

1)  Weighing the Balance

Pro

Con

Rated #1 in the world by World Bank for ease of doing business and for best labor force in the world. Rated #1 place in Asia for quality of life and political stability. Rated #3 in the world for wealth and for being the most globalized. Incredibly high tech and modern. Cleanest city imaginable. Doesn’t even allow gum chewing. Everyone seems happy. Amazing buildings, architecture, policies, programs, and services. No crime. No unemployment. No poverty. The government takes care of everyone, giving excellent transportation, healthcare, education, culture, and so on.

Hmmm.  I continue to struggle with this side. Considered a “socialist democracy” The Government controls just about everything.

2)  Choice Vignettes

Car Ownership.    Singapore is one of the greenest, if not the greenest city in the world, because the government has implemented many measures to clean up and combat pollution.  Great, eh?  Yeah, well, not if you want to buy a car.  Only 15% of the population owns a car.  Guess who?
     Well, in theory, anyone can buy a car in Singapore.  That is, if they first apply for a certificate of entitlement.  This permit costs at least $50,000 and is very difficult to obtain.  On top of that, if you do get permission, the taxes on cars are 100% of the cost.  Driving is expensive and ERP fines drivers for use of the roadway.  If you are lucky enough to own a car, it is not allowed on the road once it's ten years old.  And you can't just replace it, you need to apply for a new certificate of entitlement.
     All of this is ok, if you are happy with public transportation:  cheap, easy, clean, ready to go.  Perhaps eventually this tiny island will allow no cars at all. . .

Home and Land Ownership.  How wonderful is it that 90% of the population lives in government housing?  And we're not talking about American projects.  These are state-of-art condos that cost about two hundred grand each.  No one in Singapore is unemployed.  All people work, earn the right to have a nice home, and qualify for retirement support.
     Land is scarce.  The government owns most of it.  At least 10% is reserved for parks and green space.  The few people who do own their own land are a rare elite.  Instead, the government leases the land to a business or individual.  When the lease is up, it can be renewed (for a fee), unless the government wants to use that land for something else.
     I took the following photos at a Burmese temple near my hotel.  Notice that they are making steady progress toward raising the funds needed for renewal. My fingers are crossed that they make it.

Burmese Temple.

They just need two million more dollars.